Collateral Damage, Part 2:Unforgivable Means
by ThePartyAfterYouLeft
Summary: "And how does that make you feel?" The doctor looked at Alex patiently, but expectantly. It always came back to that question, didn't it? How do you feel? "It scares me," Alex admitted. "I'm afraid of losing, I'm afraid of winning, I'm afraid of running, and afraid of passing up the chance to run. I'm afraid of what it means that I even still think about this type of thing."
1. Chapter 1

**COLLATERAL DAMAGE, PART 2:**

**UNFORGIVABLE MEANS**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

**You see what power is-holding someone else's fear**

**in your hand and showing it to them.**

**-Amy Tan**

**Silence is the ultimate weapon of power.**

**-Charles de Gaulle**

* * *

**-1-**

**Friday, December 20, 2013**

**4:37 a.m.**

Alex Cabot was awake. Not fully rested, ready-for-the-day awake, but bleary-eyed, thinking-too-much-to-sleep awake. It wasn't a state that was foreign to her, of course, but she still hated it. She'd drifted off to a sound sleep almost immediately after saying goodnight to Olivia, weary from a long day and great sex. But here she was, less than four hours later, sitting at the kitchen counter with her laptop, banging out notes on a pending case while she tried to simultaneously ignore and rehash her conversation with Colin Samuels.

_Promise me you'll think it over. Talk to Benson, call your uncle. I think they'll both agree with me that you should do this._

She had promised, and she had, indeed, talked to Benson. It seemed like a fool's errand at the time-she expected Olivia's answer to be a firm and uncompromising no, but her wife was surprisingly encouraging. The encouragement was girdered by a saddening sense of resignation, or inevitability, Alex thought, but she'd known Olivia long enough to know that if she had given her blessing, she'd meant it.

_Talk to your uncle, talk to Liz, but in the end, you decide, babe. I'm behind you 100%._

Olivia might be hoping that Bill would be the bad guy who'd dissuade Alex from declaring herself a candidate in the special election for District Attorney, but they both knew Donnelly would push her to take the chance and run. Liz had been a tough boss, and had taught Alex more than a few brutal lessons, but seeing her protegé succeed at this level would be an enormous source of pride for her. If Liv was steering Alex in that direction for advice, then she had to be willing to go along with any decision Alex made.

Kate, she thought. If Olivia wanted someone else to play the heavy, she should've sent me to Kate. She knew her best friend would be of two minds about the possibility of Alex running for election. She'd smugly point out that all of her recent predictions were now coming to pass, but she would be apoplectic that Alex was actually considering this election.

Considering it. Sure, Alex, that's what you're doing. Considering it carefully, weighing the pros and cons, not even remotely sure what you're going to do, are you? She would have laughed at her own predictability, if she weren't dreading the discussion with Kate. She'd save that for last-after Bill, and Liz, and any other damn person she could think of to talk to about it.

* * *

Olivia was awake, too. Alex's tossing and turning hadn't kept her from sleep, but the reason for that restlessness was definitely cause for insomnia. She'd thought about getting up, walking down the cold steps and into the kitchen. She smelled coffee, so she knew Alex was up for the duration. But she knew her wife well, knew that what she needed right now was solitude. She was turning things over in her mind, weighing options in her hands, looking at the situation from every angle. Even if the end result was a foregone conclusion-and it was, as far as Olivia could see-Alex would still go through the process. She didn't cut corners.

Liv imagined the next few months-if Alex won, the next few years, and beyond-and knew that her life would change irrevocably. The media in this city loved Alex, and they'd cover her campaign enthusiastically. Except for the few who hated her, and they'd be even more thorough and unrelenting. She'd ruffled feathers throughout her career, and her time on CNN the year before hadn't endeared her to a handful of career journalists who thought she had no business mingling with the Fourth Estate. It was the reason they'd had to hide out like fugitives when IAB was questioning the detective the year before, fallout from Alex's increasingly high-profile. That wasn't the sort of thing that would normally elicit more than a passing glance from the city's media, but anything to do with Alexandra Cabot was a juicy story, it seemed. An election might be damn near unbearable, Olivia thought. And I'm sure we're about to find out just how much we can take.

Olivia felt lucky to have Alex in her life, in every way-as her wife, her lover, her best friend. But their road had never been smooth, and each of them had worries they'd never share with one another, fears that no matter how hard they both tried, it wouldn't—couldn't—work, that the forever they both wanted was an unattainable dream. Their respective reasons would have been very different, and not easily defined, or explained, but were nonetheless painfully real. These were the kinds of thoughts that had a way of creeping in during those pre-dawn hours when sleep was an elusive balm, even when the person you loved most was two rooms away. They dealt with things so differently-it was part of what made them a great team. So Liv stayed in bed, pondering and conjuring situations that she knew wouldn't turn out anything like she imagined. Alex stayed downstairs, tapping at her keyboard, making lists, a dervish of kinetic energy. As the sun rose, Olivia slept in fits and starts, until she heard Alex coming down the hall to the bedroom door. She lay with her eyes closed, expecting to feel a chilled body slide in next to her, but a minute passed and no Alex. She opened her brown eyes and looked toward the door.

Alex was leaning against the door frame, coffee mug in hand and a tired, sweet smile on her face. "Caught me," she said shyly.

"Caught you doing what, baby?"

"Looking at you, and wondering what I did to deserve so much happiness."

"You don't have to do a thing," Olivia said. "You're just perfect. Loving you is what I was meant to do. Now come over here so I can warm you up." She lifted the blankets and patted the mattress beside her.

"You could sleep a while longer, honey. I don't want to wake you."

"News flash, counselor," Olivia laughed. "I felt you sneak out of bed hours ago, and I've been awake ever since. So get under this blanket before all the heat escapes."

Alex acquiesced, putting her mug on the bedside table and curling up beside her wife. As she settled back against Olivia's chest, she started to curl her legs up, but stopped.

"Go ahead," Liv said in a resigned voice. "Put those cold feet on me and get it over with. Remind me again why you won't you wear slippers or socks?"

"I hate them," Alex said. "Always have. Not sure why." It was quiet for a moment. They didn't really have time to sleep-it was a Friday morning, and there was work to do. Always work to do, Alex thought. She felt herself warming from the inside out, as Olivia held her close and their breathing synched up.

She luxuriated in the peace for a while, but there was a question she was dying to ask.

"Liv…" she began.

"Hmmm?" The soft hum came from somewhere around Alex's ear, and sent chills down her spine.

"If you've been awake all this time, why didn't you come downstairs?"

The reply was a warm whisper against her neck. "Because, Alex Cabot, I know you. And I know you need your space when you're making an important decision. I'd never want to intrude on that. As long as you keep me in the loop, I don't need to hover over you. I trust your judgement, baby. "

"Your faith in me is boundless, Liv. I'm not sure I've proven myself worthy of that."

"You have. Believe me. You always, always do the right thing. And you'll do the right thing now. I know it."

Alex sighed. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

Olivia turned Alex toward her so they were face to face, and kissed her forehead. "I do," Olivia said. "You'll run, and you'll win. You've dreamed of this since you first thought about being an attorney, and you won't be satisfied until you try, Alex. I understand that now. I won't stand in your way. If you want to be told no, you'll have to find somebody else to do it."

"I'm not as certain as you are, Liv."

"You will be. I'll wait here until you see that I'm right. Just make sure I get the first campaign bumper sticker, and make sure my calls always get through, Madam District Attorney." She followed her demands with another kiss, decidedly less chaste. "There's no time to sleep, but there just might be time for my favorite kind of wake-up."

"I'd love that," Alex smiled. "But you have to tell me one thing."

"What's that?" Olivia asked. Her lips were already traveling along Alex's jaw, and nipping at the soft, sweet skin of her neck. "Anything for you."

"Don't you ever have doubts?" Alex's voice was serious, even as Liv's tongue on her collarbone elicited a slight hitch in her breathing.

Olivia did have doubts. Of course she did. About herself, about her work, about the world in general and the future in particular. But never about Alex, or about their love, and she decided that would be enough truth for this exact moment. She leaned back and looked into Alex's eyes.

"No," she said firmly. "You told me once that I'd better not have any uncertainties about you. And I don't. We're in this together, and it will all be okay. I know that. Now shut up and kiss me. You'll be making speeches soon enough."


	2. Chapter 2

**-2-**

Alex didn't get a chance to call Liz Donnelly. The Manhattan legal community was a hotbed of gossip worse than any high school cafeteria, and at 10:30, Ellen was knocking on her doorframe to get her attention. Alex looked up and smiled.

"Hi. What horrible news do you have for me on this otherwise lovely Friday morning?"

"What makes you think I have bad news?" Ellen asked. "Or any news, for that matter? I might just be letting you know the Office Max man delivered my new chair."

"You've never reported on the Office Max man's activities before, so, unless you have a crush on him or something…" Alex laughed. "Actually, I know that look on your face, Ellen. So spill it."

"You have a lunch appointment with Judge Donnelly."

"Well, two hours ago, my day was clear, so I can only imagine how that happened."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Cabot. She came by, looked over my shoulder and saw that you weren't booked, and said she would be by at noon to pick you up. It wasn't a question."

"It never is," Alex sighed. "Don't worry, it's not your fault. She'd have gotten to me sooner or later, anyway. May as well get it over with."

"Is this about the District Attorney's imminent departure?"

"My God, word travels fast around this office," Alex marveled. "Yes, that's what it's about. I'm sorry, Ellen, I wanted to talk to you about it today."

"There's a lot to talk about," Ellen said.

"I don't like the sound of that. Better have a seat." Alex gestured at the chair Ellen was standing behind.

Ellen rounded the chair and sat gingerly on the leather seat. This wasn't a position she was accustomed to. Despite their years of working together, and all they'd been through, she could count on one hand the number of times she'd sat in this office and talked with her boss. She ferried papers and files back and forth all day, often stood beside the desk as they chatted, and called on the intercom even more frequently.

"I'm not going to want to have this conversation, am I?" Alex asked.

"I don't think it's as bad as all that," Ellen reassured her.

"If you're retiring and leaving me, then it is as bad as all that."

"Not immediately," Ellen clarified. "But yes, the time is approaching."

"How long do I have?" Alex's voice was glum. She'd known the day would come, but somehow she hadn't wanted to consider it as anything more than an abstraction.

"After the election."

"Election?"

"Yes," Ellen replied. "I will stay with you until after the election. When you win, you'll be making the move down the hall to the DA's office, and you'll need someone else to handle things for you there."

"I don't want anyone else to _handle_ things." Alex knew she sounded like a petulant child. "Besides, I haven't even decided if I'm running for office." She tossed her glasses on the desk.

"You are, and you'll win," Ellen said kindly. "And when you do, you need a fresh start, someone who can play the political game around here far better than I've ever been able to. Being your gatekeeper is exhausting enough as it is. I can only imagine how hard it will be to keep the crowds at bay when you're the District Attorney."

Alex put her head in her hands, massaging her temples. She finally looked up at Ellen, emotion written all over her face, but she was determined not to cry. "What if I don't win?"

"If you don't win? Well, that's a big _if_, but I'll play along. If you don't win, I will stay for a few more months while you look for someone else."

Alex smiled for the first time since Ellen had sat down. "I can live with that."

"I can, too. But listen to me, Alexandra Cabot: If you throw this election just to keep me from my hard-earned retirement, I won't be pleased."

Liz arrived at 10 minutes past noon. She despised being kept waiting, but never minded inconveniencing anyone else with her own late arrivals.

"Always working hard, counselor. Never willing to coast for even a moment."

Alex looked up to see Liz leaning in the open doorway, the smirk on her face as evident as the one in her voice.

"Coast?" Alex asked.

"Coast," Liz repeated. "You must know what that is, Alex. Someone with your brains, your looks, your connections-your fantastic backstory-surely you could put your feet up once in a while and just take it as it comes?"

"When the cases stop coming across my desk, maybe I can _coast_, as you put it," Alex replied.

"Cases never stop coming across the DA's desk," Liz teased.

Alex's look was one of unadulterated annoyance. "It's been less than a day since I found out there was even going to be an election, and nearly everyone I know has spent the intervening hours making campaign posters," she complained. "If you're planning to do that as well, the least you can do is take me to lunch first."

"Fine, grab your purse," Liz said. "I'll make sure you've ordered your usual mesclun salad at Nelson Blue before I start to lay out the strategy that will get you elected."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, and true to her word, Liz was making small talk while Alex pretended she'd order any of a dozen other items on the menu, before finally settling on the one thing they both knew she'd end up getting. When the waitress left the table, Alex braced herself for the inevitable cajoling. It didn't come.

They sipped their white wine in silence. After a couple of minutes, Donnelly spoke.

"You are relaxing a bit, I'm glad to see," she said. "Ordering wine at lunch during a workday? The Alex Cabot who worked for me was far too serious for that."

"Well, it is a Friday," Alex replied drily. "And I suspect I'm going to need it. So, come on. Tell me what's on your mind."

"Why should I? You don't seem the least bit excited to hear it."

"My head is spinning, Liz. Yesterday morning, I was minding my own business, meeting with my ADAs to vet and assign cases, and by dinnertime I was penciled in as a candidate for a job I'm not sure I want."

Liz looked at her incredulously. "Who are you, and what have you done with Alex?"

Alex laughed, despite her churning stomach and nascent headache. "I'm still here. But things have changed."

"Of course they have," Liz agreed. "But I don't think _you've _changed."

Alex reacted quickly and vehemently. "Liz, I disagree completely…"

Donnelly resumed control of the conversation with a raised hand, cutting off Alex's protest instantly. _Funny_, Alex thought, _how someone can keep that upper hand so easily, just because they were once your boss or your mentor...or your enemy._

"Let me finish. You haven't changed, Alex, not fundamentally at least. You've had a set of goals in mind for a very long time. This is the next logical rung on that ladder."

"I don't feel like the same person I was 15 years ago. I don't feel like the same person I was 15 weeks ago, to be honest."

"I understand that," Liz said. "But sometimes, the ways in which we do change only serve to highlight the important ways in which we don't. When you were younger, you were such a crusader for justice. It drove me crazy at first, because I really believed that it wasn't justice you were interested in-it was power. And there's nothing wrong with wanting power, if you're honest about what your goals are."

"I'm afraid that is what I wanted then. I thought it was for someone else-for the victims, for society, for justice. It was all really for me."

"I've known you a long time, Alex. I've known your family even longer. It may shock you to realize that you never wanted power just for the sake of having it. I realized that about you years ago. Masquerading as a power-hungry, vainglorious megalomaniac made it easier for you to keep your distance-from the victims, from the cases, from everyone. But less than a year after you were assigned to SVU, you were all in. If anything changed you, it was that first year in Special Victims. Everything since has been a measure of the person you are, and the person you became working the cases no-one wanted and fighting for detectives who wanted justice as badly as you did."

"Fighting with them, too," Alex smiled ruefully.

"That's passion," Liz laughed. "You went to Harvard and became a lawyer for your family. You joined the DA's office instead of some corporate firm because that was the politically expedient career track. You even saw SVU as some sort of merit badge on your sash-Saint Alexandra, defender of the downtrodden. None of that was done out of passion, though. Working the actual cases in that unit is what made you the attorney you are today. It ignited your passion, and revealed who you truly are."

"You make me sound far more selfless than I really am, Liz."

"Well, God knows there have been missteps along the way, but you are a good person, Alex. Even when you do stupid things. You want this for the right reasons. Add to that the fact that you're a hell of a litigator. Half of Manhattan's defense attorneys are afraid of you."

"Just half?" Alex asked jokingly.

"The other half haven't met you in a courtroom yet."

Their conversation paused while the waitress delivered their salads and refilled water glasses, only to resume as soon as she was out of earshot.

"What does Olivia say?" Liz asked.

"She says I should do it, that I'll never be happy unless I try."

"Told you she was a smart woman," Liz said. "And you're married now, so that'll look good to voters."

"Liz, I don't know what I want anymore. That's not a position I like to be in."

"I know you want it, Benson knows you want it, and no matter what you say, _you_ know you want it, so cut the bullshit, Alex, and tell me what's really on your mind."

"What if I don't win?" The confession came in a rush, words Alex hadn't even known she would say until they came out of her mouth. But as soon as she spoke them, she knew they were true, and explained the real reason for her reluctance.

"Then you don't win," Liz replied nonchalantly. "It's not the end of the world. Christ, Alex, it won't be like getting shot and left for dead on a sidewalk." She waited a minute, and then smiled.

Alex smiled back at her. "Perspective."

"Yes, keep it in perspective," Liz urged. "A lost election is just a lost election, and if nothing else, you'll at least find out if you have the stomach for it."

She paused a moment and took a drink of wine.

"You won't lose though, Alex. You need to be prepared for that, and not treat this as a lark."

"How can you be sure?"

"You're the whole package. Smart, fierce ADA, family connections, high profile, hell of a backstory, cops love you-one in particular, which can only help you, in my opinion. Not to mention, you look the part, Cabot. You play well on TV, and that's an important part of the battle. There's no one else who's as well-equipped to make a run at this."

"It'll be a short election," Alex mused.

"Short elections can be brutal," Liz advised. "But I truly think this is the opportunity of a lifetime, Alex. You're going to hate running for office, I can promise you that, and it always occurred to me that you might lose your patience before the end of a regular election cycle. But you'd be a damn good District Attorney, and this is the best way for you to get there. If you run again, it's as an incumbent, and I know you'd find that infinitely more palatable."

Alex sighed. "I'll think on it." Her voice was weary.

"You can't think too long on this, Alex. I know you've probably got a pros-and-cons list a mile long already, but you can't get so wrapped up in deciding that you miss the chance to do this."

Alex was reminded of Kate's words nearly two years ago, when Alex was at loose ends and not finding any traction in an uphill battle to just live her life.

_You need to get your shit together, Alex, truly. I've known you for 20-some years and I love you, but you can spend so much time thinking about things, you forget to _do_ them, Cab. Time to fish or cut bait._

She tried to push down the sinking feeling that was threatening her tenuous grip on any sense of calm. It arose from the combination of making a rushed decision, and the realization that she hadn't yet told Kate about any of this, a conversation she was dreading.

_You're dreading it because you've decided, Alex. You're going to do this, and you know she won't support your decision._

"Earth to Alex." Liz's voice cut through the din around them, and the fog between Alex's ears.

"I'm here," she said.

"You can't afford to zone out now, Cabot. Keep your head in the game," Liz counseled her. "There's no time to waste."

"I don't like to be hurried."

"Well, tough shit, Alex. Time to put on your big-girl panties and get over yourself. If you want to do this, you have to move now. Yesterday, Colin Samuels told you and your colleagues that he's stepping down, and no doubt he spoke to a dozen or so other people around Hogan Place. I knew it by 8:30 this morning, and now it's just a game of telephone. News like this will spread like wildfire to every lawyer, judge and politician from the five boroughs up to Albany before he can schedule that press conference. You don't have to throw your hat in the ring first, but you do have to be the best prepared when you do. You have a jump-start that you can't squander. You need to hire a campaign manager, a media person and a finance person-for starters. Do that _now _while you can get the best. Then you have to start raising money."

"Oh, no problem. I'll have all that done by the time I leave today. Maybe I can spend the weekend putting up my own billboards."

Liz didn't reply for a moment, handing over her credit card to the server before turning her attention back to her companion. "You can wear the hell out of a suit, Alex, but sarcasm does not look good on you," Liz admonished.

"I'll decide by Monday," Alex granted.

"I hate to tell you, counselor, but you've already decided. I can see it in your eyes. If you don't do this, you'll always wonder what might have been. Regret isn't your thing."

"Olivia said the same thing," Alex replied. "Please don't tell me you two are in cahoots."

"We aren't-yet-but when the person who knows you better than anyone says you have to do this, doesn't that tell you something?"

Alex was quiet, staring into her water glass as she swirled the clear liquid. Maybe, if she didn't prolong this conversation, she could just get out of this restaurant and head home early to think this over. The server returned with the black folio for Liz's signature, and must have sensed she was intruding, because she didn't linger. After a moment, when Alex realized Liz was willing to wait her out, she looked up and spoke the words she'd hoped she wouldn't have to say.

"This would necessitate a very high public profile. Debates, press events, fundraisers. And that's just for an election," Alex said. "What if I won? Liz, the idea of putting myself out there like that scares the shit out of me. I thought I was over all that, but what if I'm just not tough enough?"

Liz leaned over, closing the distance between them, and the small table went quickly from cozy to confining. She pointed a finger in Alex's face, just a few inches from her nose, and spoke in a low voice.

"You'll never hear this again, so you'd better listen closely. You're the toughest person I know, Cabot. You've been to hell and back, and I admire the way you've put your life back together. But before Africa, before Witness Protection, even before SVU, you had an ambition that you've never quenched. Win or lose, you have to do this for yourself. You'll be safe, Alex. Nothing is going to happen to you, but you'll never regain everything that was taken from you until you give this a go. There will always be unanswered questions. You know it, and I know it."

"I hate this," Alex said quietly.

"You hate it when I'm right," Liz smiled. "You always hated it, and I'm always right." She signed the credit card slip. "Now, let's get the hell out of here. You've got work to do. And Alex?"

"Yes?"

"I'll be expecting an invitation to the press conference when you announce your candidacy." She flashed a wicked grin. "I think the SVU precinct would be a great backdrop, don't you? So, raise your glass of verdicchio."

"Why?" Alex asked, even as she reflexively did as she'd been told.

"For a toast, of course." Liz clinked their glasses together. "To the next District Attorney for New York County." She winked at Alex as she downed the rest of her wine in a single gulp.

* * *

Colin Samuels was wrapping up his Friday as he always did: signing off on one thing after another that his assistant put in front of him, while she walked him through his schedule for the following week. He knew he'd soon have to have a new routine in a new office with a new assistant-Laurie Medlin had been his right hand for years, but she wasn't willing to relocate to D.C., though not for any lack of trying on his part.

"Busy Monday," Laurie was saying. "The AG will be down from Albany and wants to meet with you at 9-he said it won't take more than 45 minutes. Then you have Ted Culbert from Homicide on Monday morning at 10, and Alex Cabot from VCE at 11. After that, you'll…"

"Actually, can you reverse those two meetings, with the EADAs?" Samuels interrupted. "I'd rather see Alex first."

"I'll check with them," Laurie replied. "It's the last day before the holiday, so I know neither of them will be in court. If they can't switch, should I leave it as is?"

"No, definitely not. I need to see Cabot, so you'll just have to push Ted back if that's the case. I'm expecting her to let me know if she plans to run for my job, and her answer will dictate the direction of my conversation with him."

"Why's that?" she asked.

"They're the two people in this office I would consider strong candidates, but only one of them should run. They'll cannibalize one another's votes if they both run, and it would make it damn near impossible for them to work together after the election. She'll need him on her staff."

"_Her_ staff?" Laurie chuckled. "Sounds like you have a preference."

"You know them both, Laurie. What do you think?"

"Well, Cabot definitely looks like a better candidate," Medlin offered.

"Because she is. But she's skittish. She might say no, and if that happens, my meeting with Ted will be an altogether different conversation."

"You couldn't blame her for saying no," Laurie said. "This office has put her through a lot over the years. If I were her, I'd have been in private practice long ago."

"Exactly," he agreed. "But she's not you or me. She's called to do this, I think. I just have to convince her to take the chance. I told her I'd back her, and I have every intention of doing so, but if she decides to pass, I need to know that when I meet with Ted. He can't think he's my second choice."

"I'm not even sure he should be your second choice," Laurie countered, then immediately lowered her head to the planner in her lap. "Anyway, I'll arrange that switch."

"Hold on. You have something else to say about Culbert?"

"No, nothing of any importance," she demurred.

"We've worked together a long time," Samuels said. "Don't clam up on me now. You know things about people in this office that I'd never find out in a million years. I count on you to keep me informed. You have reservations about Ted?"

"It's just rumor. Probably not a grain of truth to it," she equivocated. "You know how this office is."

"Laurie, this is me you're talking to."

"I've heard that he's better friends with Johnnie Walker than he ought to be."

"He's an alcoholic?" Samuels was incredulous. "How has this never been brought to my attention? How long has this little secret been under my nose?"

"A year or two, maybe. Since his wife left him. But it's gossip, Colin. I don't know that anyone has any evidence."

"Someone does, if that story's been going around that long."

"He does his job," Laurie pointed out. "If it is true, he handles it well. There's never been any problem."

"So far," Colin said. "But this job, and the election that he'd have to go through to get it-that's a lot more scrutiny and pressure than he's accustomed to. This kind of crap will be all over the front page of the Post before the first debate is held. If I back him and something like that gets out, it's a PR nightmare for me."

"Well, if Cabot decides to run, then it's irrelevant, right? I'll reschedule them for Monday, and with any luck, she'll give you the answer you want."

"Never mind rescheduling," Samuels said. "Bring him in first. I'm telling him I won't back his bid. I'd love to have a horse in this race, but I'm not willing to take a chance like that. I'd just as soon wash my hands of the whole thing and let a few strangers fight it out."

"What if Cabot says no?" Laurie asked. "She'd certainly have good reason to."

"Well, that's occurred to me," Colin replied. "I'll just have to put a full-court press on her to make sure that doesn't happen.


	3. Chapter 3

**-3-**

**Monday, December 23, 2013**

Alex was in the office by 7 a.m., and worked straight through for nearly three hours. The DA's office was a few doors down, after all, so it wouldn't be a long trip to her 10 o'clock meeting with Colin Samuels. She knew he expected an answer, and she'd told Liz she'd decide by Monday. She'd hardly slept the night before, and was glad she'd be off for two days for Christmas.

She still hadn't called Kate, but she had talked to Bill the night before, and he was very encouraging.

_You can do this, Ace. You've wanted it for ages. Why not take a chance?_

Everyone made it sound so easy. So why was she still feeling like she might not know what she'd tell Samuels until she heard the words come out of her own mouth? Her thoughts were fragmented and she felt scattered as she walked down the hall to the meeting. It was a feeling she didn't care for.

Nearly an hour later, Samuels was walking her out into the waiting room of the DA's office suite.

"You've made the right decision, Alex," he said as he shook her hand. "You'll win it going away. I'll be behind you 100%."

"You make it sound like a walk in the park, Colin."

"For you, it will be," he laughed. "Just promise me you won't forget where you came from. And perhaps just as importantly, do me the courtesy of waiting until I'm gone to start redecorating the office, ok?"

She took her leave, running into Ted Culbert as she stepped into the hall and turned toward her own office. She stopped off at Ellen's desk, and was met with an expectant face.

"Well?"

"God help me, I'm going to do it."

"Good," Ellen said. "I know you have your doubts, Ms. Cabot, but I really do think it's the right decision. You're the best person for the job."

"Well, as long as one of us is sure," Alex said. "But I can do without that I-told-you-so smile, you know."

Ellen laughed. "I'll do my best to not point out that I'm right. Meanwhile, Kate Merritt returned your call. I told her you'd call her back when you returned from your meeting with the DA."

"Damn," Alex cursed under her breath.

"I'm sorry, I can call her back and tell her your meeting ran long and you'll return her call after lunch."

"No, it's fine, Ellen," Alex said, patting the older woman's hand. "The thing is, I didn't call Kate. I was planning to break the news to her this afternoon, but it sounds like the rumor mill was working overtime."

"But she said…"

"She's smarter than the two of us put together, Ellen. That's her way of trying to get me on the phone."

"Is something wrong?" Ellen knew Kate was her boss's oldest friend, and this reluctance to call her was unusual.

"Nothing's wrong," Alex said as she walked into her office. She stopped in the doorway and turned around, smiling at her secretary. "Just one more _I told you so_, is all. This one won't be as happy to be right, though."

Dev Patel's phone rang, and he stepped away from what he was doing to take the call. Before he could say hello, the voice on the other end spoke.

"She's running."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm in a position to know."

Patel needed more to go on than that. "Is it a done deal?"

"Definitely. Cabot is in. She'll announce after the holidays, but she is doing to do it."

"How did you manage that?" Patel asked.

"It was simple. I said what I needed to say, and did what I needed to do. Just like you, Dev."

The call ended, and Dev could hardly believe his good fortune. If he celebrated Christmas, this would be a hell of a present. Either way, it was certainly news worth sharing. He pulled up a number he'd programmed in his phone, but had never used. Truth be told, he hesitated to use it now, but he couldn't sit on information like this for too long.

"Madeline Taylor."

"It's me."

"I can't imagine why you would ever think you should contact me at this number, Deval." Her voice was icy, but her anger was palpable between the words. "We speak in the evenings, when we speak at all. You have instructions to call me at one number, and one number only."

"It couldn't wait until tonight," Dev said. "I decided to call you at the office."

"Let me be very clear with you," Madeline said. "You don't decide anything. You don't make choices, you don't _plan_ or _strategize_. And you damn sure don't ever call me here again. I don't even know how you got this number, but you can be certain that whoever put your call through will be looking for a new job this afternoon."

He knew where Madeline worked, obviously. She had never told him anything about herself, but she couldn't have thought he was disinterested, or docile enough not to learn what he could. But she was surely wondering how he got the number to her private office. Knowing she was an executive at Bernard Worldwide wouldn't get your average person through to her private office, where he only had to talk his way past two secretaries, rather than the dozen he'd have faced otherwise.

"I didn't tell your assistant anything of any importance," he argued. "I don't think she needs to lose her job over this."

"There you go again," Madeline chided. "Thinking is not what…"

"Cabot is running," he cut her off. "Her press conference will be right after the New Year."

"How do you know this?"

"We agreed that you didn't want details," he replied, an edge to his voice. "_The how is none of my concern,_ you said. You told me to get results, and I am."

"I didn't think it would be this easy," Madeline said.

She seemed almost happy. It wasn't something he was used to, and that was putting it mildly. "I don't think the battle's won," he said. "Even a short election can be an eternity to those running."

"Oh, the hard part is over, Deval," she said. "Someone like Alexandra would have a hundred reasons not to run, and a dozen people cautioning her against it. If she's made the decision, the rest will fall into place. She's very...electable."

"So are other people," he countered. "And some of them will run. This is too good an opportunity to pass up."

She was quiet for a moment, perhaps considering the stiff competition Cabot would surely face. She was getting ahead of herself, he thought. Just because Cabot planned to run didn't mean she'd win, and he would be best served if Madeline had more realistic expectations. Failure was a distinct possibility, and he had no desire to be seen as the cause of that catastrophe.

When she spoke again, he realized she had no intention of losing this game, or whatever it was they were playing.

"Well, then, Deval, it would seem you have work to do. You're busy making excuses when you should be making things happen," she said. "And one other thing: don't ever call me here again. Is that understood?"

"I just…"

"Never," she said. She didn't wait for any reply before cutting off the call.

"Fuck you!" Dev roared, throwing his phone. He was careful to throw it onto the bed, though, because he couldn't afford to replace it just for the sake of making a statement. _A statement to whom? _he thought. _The cockroaches? You're the invisible man, Patel._

Being reprimanded and jerked around by this bitch sure as hell wasn't what he'd had in mind when he'd moved here with a JD from Stanford and $130,000 in student loans. Neither was this tiny third-floor walkup, which only met the city's 400-square-foot minimum size with a little creative measuring. He was living in a glorified walk-in closet, and still he could barely make the rent. He was disbarred-he'd never practice law again in New York, or anywhere else for that matter. He was on probation, for God's sake, forced to report in weekly by phone and to show up in person monthly, like a common criminal.

He was working as a process server for a midtown firm, and knew he was damn lucky to have found that job, as humiliating as it was. He'd gotten a call out of the blue-that seemed to be happening a lot lately-and a man whose voice he didn't recognize offered him the position, sight unseen.

_We have mutual acquaintances, Mr. Patel. I know what you've been through, and I think you were hung out to dry by those who could have shielded you. You'll need to support yourself somehow until you get back on your feet. I have a spot for you. It's not much money, but perhaps it will help. _

He'd been told to show up at Lowe, Gelvin & Lowe the following Monday at 9 a.m. The high-rise on West 34th housed a Cohen's and a Duane Reade on the ground floor, and the firm occupied the 14th and 15th floors. The receptionist had been expecting him, and by lunchtime he'd been given an employee ID card, a cubicle and a job processing court filings, and retrieving documents, and serving notice to people who most often had no interest in receiving it.

It kept him in the loop-he found out lots of information and made some new contacts while he was performing his duties. And his anonymous benefactor had arranged for an unexpected level of discretion: the attorneys at the firm knew his background, but none of the paralegals or other drudges seemed to have a clue that he was the person who'd been involved in the Mayor's shenanigans months before. He had noticed that certain conversations regarding the firm's cases or strategies were suspended when he was within earshot. He knew the partners were protecting their business-though disbarred attorneys were technically permitted to perform certain tasks related to the law, New York County took a particularly dim view of it, so the slightest appearance of impropriety could be a disaster.

He was making a Herculean effort to ignore all of these temporary setbacks and transient indignities. That's what they were, he was sure. Something significant was just around the corner, and he had to focus on the day that he would be able to step out of the shadows and take what he deserved. _Keep your eyes on the prize, Deval. _It was his father's favorite phrase and he had never cared for it. Karma was a bitch, though, and now it seemed to be running through his mind on an infinite loop, background noise to the boring, repetitive shit he had to do to put food in his mouth and a roof over his head. Every once in a while, though, another voice asserted itself, chiding and challenging him.

_Eyes on the prize, Dev? You don't even know what the hell the prize is. _

Most of the time, though, he saw himself as a king without a crown, an emperor without a country. He was destined for greatness, and once he returned from exile, he'd have to be prepared to deal with any threat to his power. If this plan-whatever it was-worked, then Cabot would surely be a non-factor. Madeline herself, though, would be a challenge. She had the upper hand, and he'd have to remedy that.

He passed the time learning as much as he could about her, looking for a clue as to where things were headed, and a soft spot where he could bury the knife once they got there.

Knowing where Madeline worked wasn't the same as knowing what she _did_. Bernard billed itself as a _global management consulting firm_, a term so broad as to be nondescriptive. Like its counterparts McKinsey and Bain, Bernard had its hand in so many pies it was nearly impossible to know what any particular division actually did. The company's website listed Madeline K. Taylor as the Senior Vice President and General Counsel, and Dev had been able to learn more about her career trajectory from a variety of sources.

She was an attorney who had made a name for herself working for a few tech firms; most notably, defending the intellectual property rights of a corporation whose mobile technology was imitated, duplicated and pirated every day in every corner of the world. She'd been well paid for her brilliant and tenacious legal work, but it was the company's 1995 IPO that had made her a millionaire many times over. She could have done anything at that point: retired, opened her own white-glove firm, or just kept her current position and phoned it in. Inexplicably, she had taken a mid-level legal counsel position in Bernard's Chicago office, and then parlayed it into her current corner suite in the company's 52nd Street international headquarters. There had been stints in London and Geneva, but once she had made the move back to New York, her rise had been dizzying.

He'd gleaned all of that information from the Wall Street Journal, the Times, Forbes and a fawning cover story in a fairly recent issue of the Barnard alumnae magazine. Professionally, she was an open book, with a LinkedIn profile and a fair number of mentions in the media. Personally, though, she was an enigma. One could be forgiven for wondering if she was even human, really. The Barnard story was a puff piece, and the reporter hadn't even managed to elicit more than a passing mention of family or hobbies ("running" was all she'd been willing to admit to). Yale Law, class of '88.

Dev figured she was about 50 years old-several years older than Cabot, so they hadn't gone to school together. Madeline had never worked for the city of New York, in any capacity, hadn't clerked for Cabot's uncle, hadn't spent any time in East Amherst, or Madison, or Baltimore. Their connection had to have been forged in Manhattan, somehow, and he was determined to find out exactly what that connection was, and how deep it went. He knew he was in this mess for the long haul-he couldn't say why, exactly, but he just knew that he wouldn't be allowed out unless she either achieved her aims, or decided he was incapable of helping her do so.

It was those aims that worried him. If he could just figure out what had gone on between Taylor and Alex Cabot, maybe he could figure out where this was all headed. That might go a long way to helping him anticipate the next move, and a little bit of foresight might be the only currency he held in this situation. He needed to bank every advantage he could get. He had no intention of remaining invisible forever.


	4. Chapter 4

**-4-**

**Wednesday, December 25, 2013**

It was 2:30 on Christmas morning when Olivia's phone buzzed on the nightstand. Alex moaned instantly and covered her head with a pillow, muttering quietly, "Not on Christmas, not on Christmas."

"Benson," Olivia barked into the phone. She was quiet for a moment, listening intently. Then she swore. "Shit, he's back. Motherfucker." Another brief silence before she signed off with, "I'll be ready in 20."

She rolled toward Alex, who peeked out from under the pillow. "I'm going to venture a guess that the _motherfucker_ in question is not, in fact, Santa Claus."

Olivia leaned over and kissed her forehead, willing herself not to succumb to the combined allure of soft skin and the smell of sleep. "If you keep cussing like a sailor, baby, I don't think Santa Claus can be counted on to come to this house anytime soon," she whispered. "Alex, I'm so sorry. It's him again. I have to go."

"Go save the world, beautiful. Uncle Bill and I will be here. We won't open presents until you're home."

"Eat dinner without me," Olivia said.

"The hell we will. It's not Christmas dinner without you. We were apart last year, and I'm not celebrating any more holidays that way. Besides, with Aunt Jean gone...we need you, Liv. We will have dinner when you're here with us, whether that's nine o'clock tonight or 3:30 next Tuesday afternoon."

"Okay, sweetheart," Olivia acquiesced. "What will you guys do today?"

"We'll relax and have breakfast, and I'm guessing you'll be in for a long day, so if that's the case, we may go to the cemetery. Then Bill will overcome his sadness and grief long enough to kick my tail at backgammon a dozen or so times." Alex smiled at her. "Now, go get ready while I make you some coffee."

"No, baby, I can't let you do that. It's the middle of the night. Stay in bed."

"Be quiet, Liv," Alex whispered. "It's Christmas, and the least I can do is put a cup of coffee in your hand before I send you out in the night."

Fifteen minutes later, the detective was kissing her wife as she took two travel mugs in hand. "I thank you, honey, and Nick thanks you."

"Merry Christmas, my love," Alex said softly. "Be safe, both of you."

Fourteen floors below, Olivia endured a shock of cold air as she exited the building and walked the 20 or so feet to the waiting car. Nick had the heat on full-blast, and smiled as she handed him a cup of hot coffee. The smile was a tired one, though, and the dark circles under his eyes spoke volumes.

"You look like shit, Amaro."

"Merry Christmas to you too, Benson."

"I'm getting too old for this, Nick. These call-outs in the middle of the night are a little harder every time."

"You're not old, partner. You just have a beautiful wife at home and you don't want to leave your warm bed and your Christmas dinner to hang out with me and another dead body."

"Might be that, too," Olivia laughed.

Except for a few taxis lurching through the night like desperate drunks at last call, the streets were empty, and they were at the scene in ten minutes. A body had been found in Jefferson Park, just off the FDR, not far from the Ward's Island Bridge. They parked and walked over to the yellow tape to find Don Cragen already there speaking to the uniformed officer in charge of the scene.

"Fine, Pete, got it. Thanks for the information. I'll bring my detectives up to speed," he said, shaking the sergeant's hand, then turning to them. "Liv, Nick, no offense, but I had really hoped not to spend Christmas with you two."

Olivia spoke first. "Captain, you didn't have to roll out for this."

"Olivia, you know the brass will call me on the carpet the moment they step foot back in their offices tomorrow. I wouldn't miss this for the world," he offered wryly. "So, here's what we know so far. Female, mid- to late-20s, appears to be Hispanic, strangled, indications of sexual assault."

"Like a fucking broken record," Nick said.

Cragen nodded, his face red and his eyes tired. _He looks exhausted,_ Liv thought. _We all do. _

"We're waiting for the ME now. Warner wasn't on call, but she's coming. Apparently she left instructions with her people to roust her for anything that looked like our guy."

"And this sure as hell looks like him," Benson said. "Duty belt?"

"There's a checkmark in every box, Liv."

The body wasn't even well-hidden. He was getting bolder.

"Hide a body too well in this cold weather, it'll be weeks before it's found," Nick mused. "He doesn't like that, wants to control when it's found. He wants the glory."

"That worries me," Olivia said.

"Maybe we should disseminate some misinformation," Nick said. "Surprise him by taking some control out of his hands. Imply that we have a suspect on this one, some jealous husband or boyfriend kills his woman, then copycats off our guy. He'd hate the thought of someone riding his coattails."

"Could force his hand," Cragen agreed. "Push him into making a mistake."

Amaro nodded. "Maybe he'll brag to someone, or contact the media to take the credit."

"Or maybe we'll just goad him into upping the ante," Liv said. "And then the blood of his next victim is on our hands."

"That's bullshit, and you know it," Nick spat out. "This hump does what he wants to do, when he wants to do it. We may not be able to stop him, but I'm sure as hell not gonna take responsibility for him. What's your bright idea, partner?"

Olivia looked at all of the controlled chaos around her: the scene techs and their flurry of activity in the concentric white circles created by the halogen lights on their temporary rigs, uniformed officers securing the perimeter, Melinda and her team caring for another nameless victim, and three detectives with no idea who the fuck they were looking for or how they were going to catch him. Every exhalation formed a silvery could in the frigid air. Noise from a generator filled the night like a low growl.

"I'm afraid I'm all out of bright ideas, _partner_," she said. "Merry fuckin' Christmas, huh?"

Alex was sitting at the table with coffee and a legal pad when Bill wandered downstairs at 8:30. She'd slept fitfully at best after sending Liv out earlier, and finally gave up a little before 7 and got up. She was deeply absorbed in her thoughts, half of her brain generating scores of pros and cons about running for office, her pen flying across the yellow paper as she struggled to keep up.

The other half of her thoughts were occupied with these cases Olivia and Nick were working. God knows she never thought of herself as a detective, but years of experience had taught her how their minds work, and she couldn't help but think through all that Liv had told her, hoping to hit on some little detail that might send them down a new road. She hadn't even heard Bill come in, and looked up in surprise when he kissed her on the head.

"Merry Christmas, Ace. I checked under the tree, and it looks like Santa Claus was here. Is your better half still asleep?"

"Merry Christmas, Uncle Bill," Alex replied. "No, unfortunately she left hours ago. They got called out on a case."

"She said last night that she wasn't catching this holiday," he recalled, his face conveying concern through the same single line in his forehead that Alex had. He knew there were few reasons an off-duty detective with Olivia's seniority would be called in on a holiday. "Is it that serial case?"

"Looks like it." She was happy he didn't require a lot of explanation. He knew what their lives were like.

"I'm sorry to hear that, honey," Bill consoled her.

"Thanks. Me, too," she said, a weary smile doing nothing to make the disappointment and worry she felt. "She said we should have Christmas without her."

"And I hope you told her we'll do no such thing," he said. "We're a small-enough family as it is. I don't care if we have to wait until January 25th for all of us to be together. Besides, it's your first Christmas as newlyweds. It's bad enough that you have an old man intruding on your celebration."

"Nonsense. This is exactly where you belong. Now, what shall you and I do today? I thought maybe you'd want to go to the cemetery."

"No thanks, Ace," Bill answered. "I went before I came down here. We're not about to spend the day on the highway, and your aunt would kill us if she knew we were hanging around a graveyard on Christmas day. So, how about we watch a movie or two, maybe head to Chinatown for lunch. That's what you do when you aren't celebrating Christmas, right?"

"Sounds good to me. I feel like I never get to see enough of you." She was quiet a moment, an idea rolling around in her head that might not be well received. She threw caution to the winds and spoke in a rush. "Why don't you move back to the city now? I want to have you closer. You can retire, or teach at NYU. They'd fall all over themselves to have you."

"You think I can't look after myself now that your Aunt Jean is gone?"

"That's not what I meant."

He cocked his head and smiled at her. "I'm teasing you, Alex," he laughed. "I know you don't see me as feeble and decrepit quite yet. But what you're suggesting is a good idea. I'd already considered it myself."

"What's stopping you?"

"You and Olivia will feel responsible for me, and that's not a burden you need," he said matter-of-factly.

She held his gaze. She knew what he meant-they were, after all, very much alike. She had spent too many years shying away from the types of connections and relationships that she now knew made her life more full, more worthwhile...more real.

"We are family," she said softly. "Just the three of us, responsible for one another. One of my favorite things is when people ask if I'm Bill Harriman's niece. You're another father to me, and I count myself lucky to have you. You're as stubborn and independent as my mother…"

"And you," he interrupted.

"And me, yes. We are cut from the same cloth. So, if you don't feel like making a move back to New York, I understand. I'd never pressure you. But promise me you'll think it over."

"Okay," he said. "I will. I promise."

"Think it over without worrying about all that, please. I mean, this is a big city. We can still avoid you when you get to be too much to bear, you know?"

He laughed. "You've got it. I'll think it over. I just hope if I do move back, I won't force you two to change your numbers and alert the doorman that I'm off the list."

"I don't foresee that happening," she said. "Now, let's get our coffee and waste a couple of hours on the couch watching _It's a Wonderful Life_. That sounds like a perfect prelude to some dim sum."

Olivia left the precinct at around five o'clock that afternoon. She had shooed Nick out an hour or so earlier, insisting he go see his kids, while she made notes and tried to decompress a bit from the day before she headed home to Alex and Bill.

"I can't leave you here," Nick protested.

"You can, and you will," she insisted. "A 14-hour day is plenty, Nick. Besides, Christmas is for kids. Yours deserve to see their dad today. Go."

"How are you gonna get home?"

"I'll take an unmarked. It's a skeleton crew around here this week. No one's gonna need it before tomorrow."

It had still taken her another few minutes to get him out the door and headed home. She wanted to go home, too, wanted badly to see Alex and Bill and feel for a few hours like a normal family, but she needed some time alone to make some notes, try to decompress and empty of her mind of this mess for a little while.

She texted Kris Mackey on her way out the door.

_Give me a call tomorrow if you can. New information to discuss._

She felt like she was at the end of her rope, and truth be told, reaching out to Kris was becoming second nature on these nightmare cases. They were on parallel tracks and having someone to share it with made it feel a little less lonely. Nick had her back, of course, but part of what made them a good team was that they approached things differently. That resulted in good police work, but it sometimes meant there were bumps and misunderstandings and disconnects along the way. And she always had Alex, but she was making a concerted effort to bring less of the horror and cruelty and the endless damn frustration into their home.

She hadn't expected a wedding to have any impact on her job, but she found that she'd become even more protective of Alex, and the idea of their home and their marriage as a safe place, free of this muck and filth, was now even more appealing to her. There were so many things she couldn't do: she couldn't promise Alex that she'd come home safe every time she left, and she couldn't always control how much of herself she had to sacrifice to her work in order to get the job done, and she damn sure couldn't shield Alex from the world's many slings and arrows, both literal and metaphorical. But she could do her best to make sure she didn't sully their bed-or Alex's dreams-with horrors neither of them could forget when the lights were out and the house was quiet.

She shook off her thoughts long enough to talk to the desk sergeant about getting an unmarked for the night, and her phone rang before he had handed her the keys to a Crown Vic.

"It's him, huh?" Even without the heads-up provided by caller ID, she'd have known Kris's voice. It varied from a friendly drawl to an aggressive fusillade, and right now every chamber was loaded.

"I didn't mean for you to call today," Olivia said. "It'll wait." Despite their shared misery and frustration, she hadn't meant to ruin Kris's holiday. _Then you should've waited to send that text tomorrow, Benson, _she admonished herself.

"That's not an answer."

Olivia was silent for a few seconds. "Yeah, it's him," she finally replied. "But it's Christmas. We can talk in the morning."

"Bullshit, Benson, I'm sitting at my desk in the station house. Tell me what's going on."

Olivia settled in the car and recounted the day's activities, her voice full of exhaustion and anger. She'd been up for 15 hours already, and knew she wouldn't get to bed for a few more hours at least.

"Kris, I just don't know," she said. "There's still so much to do on this one, but I'd be lying if I said I thought we'll catch him. Based on what I've seen so far, there are no more clues here than there have been any other time. This fucker's just gonna go on, doing whatever he wants."

"You're tired, Olivia," Kris said. "You've done all you can for today. Go home and see your wife before you have to get up tomorrow and bang your head against a few more walls."

"How about you? Sitting in the station house isn't much of a Christmas. Don't you have enough seniority to pull some strings there so you can be home?"

"Thought I'd be nice and let some of the guys have the day off for family stuff," Kris replied. "Banking some good karma, maybe. God knows I could use it."

"What about your family?" Liv laughed softly. "How do they feel about you making karmic bank deposits on a holiday?"

"You're assuming there's anyone who cares, Benson," Kris said. There was a laugh, but it was hollow. Before Olivia could speak, Kris continued. "Enough. Even a quality therapist like you doesn't work the holy days. Go home and forget about all of this for the evening."

"We can talk tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Mackey replied. "I'm sure this guy will still be on the loose at eight o'clock. Call me and we'll put our heads together."

"Alright," Liv reluctantly agreed. "Merry Christmas, Kris."

"Just another day, as far as I'm concerned," Kris said. "But if you hung a sock by your fireplace, I hope there's something good in it, Olivia. Now get off this phone and go home."


End file.
